


He Sees Dead People

by Pigeonsplotinsecrecy



Series: MacGyver May [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: (sort of but not really), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Fake Psychics, Gen, Ghosts, He sees dead people, Jack is protective, Medium - Freeform, Psychic, Sixth Sense AU, macgyver may, probably no angst but who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:29:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy
Summary: Mac sees dead people (and talks to them)





	1. The Guy Who Sees Dead People

Mac took a seat on the couch in the War Room in a spot right next to a dead guy he had learned to be Al. Al was a frequenter in the Phoenix Foundation, and while when Mac first met him he had been loud, always trying to get attention, Al had quieted significantly. He was one of those ghosts that liked to stick around and people watch. While a loomer, as Mac like to call ghosts who hung around watching the living like they were characters in a movie, he seemed like a nice guy. Though, Mac didn’t get enough time alone with him to have much of a conversation with the poor soul. Al didn’t seem like an unhappy spirit at least. That’s what people often misunderstood about ghosts, spirits, spooks— whatever you want to call them. They seemed to think ghosts were unhappy spirits who had yet to pass over.

“Passing over” wasn’t really a thing in actuality. There was a lot more fluidity between the world of the dead and the world of the living, and ghosts, as long as they had some tie to themselves left on the earth, could flitter between both worlds as they pleased because they had enough life to enter, though not fully participate in the land of the living, and they could also go to the land of afterlife whenever they pleased. Thus, spirits weren’t necessary bitter, mean things that needed help getting to the other side. Sometimes they were because some spirits had trouble admitting they were even dead, refusing the wonders of the afterlife, but, mostly, they were just explorers experimenting and entertaining themselves with the dual realms they could exist in to varying degrees. The realm of the living for most ghosts was just a vacation destination, a novelty even, that they went to for the kicks. Sometimes, they would visit loved ones or enemies, but sometimes watching without being able to do anything was more painful for them. In general, the realm of the living didn’t compare to the the realm of the dead.

Most people were unaware of how it all— life and death— worked because they were blind to the ghosts and ghouls among them. Most people had some ability to sense ghosts, even if they couldn’t pinpoint what that sense was, but few people could make meaningful connections with the deceased. Many mediums couldn’t even see the spirits in the way Mac could. Mac could see spirits, and if he tried hard enough, he could even touch them. But he avoided touching them whenever possible because not only would touching them allow them to touch him back more easily, but also the whole thing made him feel half human and half ghost. He hated that unnerving feeling of feeling like he was passing boundaries he wasn’t supposed to pass. Mac had never heard of someone with his level of powers before, and it scared him to think that he was a freak of nature. So, he stayed hidden.

For a long time, Mac didn’t realize he was different. He thought all kids had strange people gathering in their rooms at night. When he was three, he had mentioned the people to his mom, and she had laughed, telling him that someday he would make a great novelist. The ghosts had always been comforting. It was nice to feel that there was always someone looking out for him. Mac never worried about monsters under his bed because he knew he had a crowd of spirits looking over him. Back then, they never tried to talk to them. Nevertheless, they were there everywhere he went, his guardian angels.

The first time Mac knew he was seeing ghost was when he saw his mother’s. He had seen plenty of ghosts before, but when his mother talked to him at her own funeral, he began to realize that what he was experiencing wasn’t normal. “I see Mommy,” he had said without understanding what being dead meant. James had shrugged it off, thinking his son was just being a kid, only referring to the body in the casket. Mac tugged his dad’s suit jacket again, “She talked to me.”

“You have a big imagination, Angus,” James replied, too hungover to squabble about the semantics of death with a five-year-old, and from that day forward whenever Mac mentioned the dead people he saw, people would come up with an excuse basically saying, “The poor kid with the dead mother is traumatized about his mom’s death and is trying to get attention by creating imaginary ghosts.”

Some adults in his life, like his grandfather and not like his father, were impressed by the ghost stories he told. They thought his mind was fascinating, filled with brilliance regardless of the unbelievable tales he told about playing with ghosts in the graveyard or chatting with his mother.

By the time he was in fifth grade, Mac learned that telling people that he saw ghosts was crazy and would get people to make fun of him. As he got older, no one would believe him, and telling tales about seeing ghosts stopped being cute. Instead, people looked at him like he was crazy and made fun of him behind his back or sometimes to his face. That was when Mac decided that if he wanted friends, a good life, and to not be a freak, no one could know about his gift. It was something he’d have to keep to himself, which was hard at times when ghosts were taunting and calling at him.

The only one who ever found out that Mac really saw ghosts was his grandfather, and Mac was half-convinced no one else would ever find out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell his friends, his family, the truth, but he feared what would happen if they didn’t believe him. He didn’t want them to think he was delusional and tell him he should be locked away in some institution. Even if they did believe him, je didn’t want to be that weirdo who could not only see and talk to ghosts but who could also touch them. They might mistake him for the grim reaper or some other dark creature of death if they knew the truth.

 “Desmond O’Conner,” Matty said, putting up a picture of a gray-haired man who had a pearly white grin. “For those of you who like reality TV, you may recognize him from his show, _Lost Loved Ones_.” Speaking of psychics…

“He’s that TV psychic!” Bozer said excitedly. “I love his show. He talks with dead people! He actually talks to dead people! How cool is that?” Mac had always resented the guy. After all, Desmond O’Connor was able to tell the whole world he was a psychic while Mac had to keep his own abilities to himself. It was one thing to be a medium who could vaguely connect with spirits but another altogether to be able to interact with them as if they were real people. They had been people once, sure, but Mac knew from experience that ghosts were a very different kind of creature, not necessarily in a bad way, but to call them people seemed wrong. Brushes with spirits were acceptable, but full on contact was considered crazy.

“ _Actually,_ Bozer, He doesn’t actually talk with them, he ‘senses’ them,” Riley added skeptically. “He gets impressions of what they want to communicate, nothing more.”

“He brings closure to families,” Bozer defended the guy.

In Mac’s experience, there was a sense of closure that could be found in contacting ghosts, but there could also be torment. Mac himself had faced this after his Mom’s death. He grew accustomed to her being there each night before he went to bed. She’d hum in his ears and read him stories. It was almost as if she wasn’t gone, which only made it harder when Mac remembered that she and him no longer lived in the same place.

Mac’s mom stopped visiting when he was seven, and he wasn’t sure if something, other than complete disconnection from the living realm, can permanently prevent travel to the land of the living, but he was sure that his mom had to have a good reason for not coming back. But then his tenth birthday rolled around, and his dad was gone. That was the day he started to wonder if maybe he was the problem. Mac was the common denominator, after all. Mac’s grandfather was the one person who had never completely left Mac, visiting the living realm at least once a year, but any time Mac asked about his mom, his grandfather never seemed to have an answer, which made it all the more mysterious.

The second death of his mother hurt more than the first.

“He’s not a good guy, Bozer,” Matty reminded.  

“Right! This guy acts like he can communicate with the dead. What a load of bullshit,” Jack, so gullible in some ways but so skeptical in others, argued. “People can’t actually communicate with the dead. It’s all theater,” he gesticulated wildly in a way that only Jack could, making it impossible for Mac to stifle the small smile blossoming on his face. Even Al, who was normally stoic, seemed to get a kick out of Jack’s antics.

Riley grinned, “I thought you of all people would be a believer, Jack.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen enough people conned to know psychics are a bunch of scammers.” Riley and Mac shared a look, both knowing that what Jack meant was that he had been scammed by a psychic at some point. There was nothing Jack liked less than being duped twice. So, after being duped once, he always had a jaded outlook on any similar situation.

“I don’t think it’s fair to label a whole group of people as scammers just because of a couple of charlatans,” Mac replied. He hated the bad reputation that psychics, particularly mediums, got. Sometimes, he wished he could just be normal. Be like Jack, who didn’t know that humans and spirits could communicate.

“You actually believe that there are people out there with a sixth sense, Hoss? They’re all like that psychic dude on that show…” Jack trailed off not sure what he was referring to.

“You mean _Psych_?” Bozer said just as Riley said, “Ah, yes, _The Mentalist._ ”

“Whatever it is. The point is that the psychic was fake, and I’m not saying there’s no talent in what psychics do, but it sure ain’t a gift as some of ‘em like to call it. It’s just a somewhat legitimized con.”

“Legitimized,” Matty said, “That’s a big word for you, Jack.”

“Har har, very funny.”

Mac wasn’t going to let up. He needed to prove to Jack that being a medium was possible if only to validate that he wasn’t just crazy. Plus, he didn’t want Jack, even if indirectly, to think he was a con artist. “We shouldn’t rule out the possibility is all I’m saying. Scientifically, we cannot prove that psychic mediums don’t exist. Though, I’m not saying O’Connor is one of them.” Mac wasn’t sure if the guy was genuine or not yet, but he planned on finding out.

“It doesn’t matter if the real deal exists or not,” Matty cut in. “Our bad guy is using people’s grief to rob them of their savings either way, and I’m sending you to his show to help bring him down.”

“I’m not saying what he’s doing is ethical but legally this guy isn’t really doing anything wrong, so what are we supposed to do? We may be a secret organization, but we still have standards we have to uphold.”

“Since when do you care about standards,” Matty replied with an eyeroll, “And O’Connor being a jerk scamming people on his show isn’t the real concern here. The problem is that O’Connor has been using his show to vulnerable people who can then be trafficked.”

Bozer groaned loudly. “Seriously? Do ya’ll have to constantly ruin things that give me joy in life.”

“Sorry, Boze, there’s no such thing as an honest psychic,” Jack said, clapping Bozer’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Mac said so softly he wasn’t sure if anyone but Al heard. Al may have been dead, but he sure was a good listener.


	2. Mac Needs Some Boo-ze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets to Vegas and Mac is trying to avoid getting too close to ghosts.

Jack was zipping down the highway, Mac riding in the passenger seat, Riley and Bozer in the back. Mac had been pouty the whole ride, yet to have warm up to the idea of having to deal with a psychic. “Yee-haw! We’re in Vegas, baby.” O’Connor was having a special show shot in Las Vegas, where they knew he was also doing some below ground business on the side, which meant the team was being sent to sin city to catch a man who may or may not be able to talk to ghosts. Either way, he was a scumbag who needed to be caught. Mac would have to just push past the uncomfortable feeling bubbling in his stomach. The sun was shining and they’d be at their hotel soon to kick back and relax before the mission got rolling.

“Hey,” Bozer said, looking at a website he’d pulled up on his phone. He’d been looking up trivia and fun facts the whole trip, most of which Mac already knew. Boze had been trying the whole trip to stump Mac (to little avail).  “Hey, I bet you don’t know this one.”

“I’ll bet twenty dollars he does,” Jack said.

Bozer nodded, “Deal.”

“Did you know that the place we’re staying at was built over an old graveyard?” Jack would be twenty dollars poorer. “How cool is that?” Nope, definitely not cool when you could see ghosts. Sleeping with the ghosts was not Mac’s idea of a good time, and inevitably, Mac would feel paranoid that he was being watched the whole time he was there, and perhaps it would be erroneous to consider it paranoia at all given that he likely _would_ be watched. Ghosts loved watching almost as much as they loved chatting to those who could actually hear them, which would make Mac a major target.

“It’s built on a graveyard. Are you serious?” Riley asked. “I hope we get some haunted house action.” Mac wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. His mind was too focused on the hotel to determine if Riley wanted a spiritual encounter. A building being built on a graveyard was always a bad sign.

While spirits weren’t necessarily tied to the places they died, places with many connections to death or bodies still tended to be spiritual hubbubs. The spirits originally buried in the graveyard had probably grown board with the realm of the living realm, but even so, younger spirits would still be drawn to the hotel because spirits could exist more freely in places that were said to be haunted. In such places, the veil between the living, even the less sentient among them, and the dead was thinner. Belief, or at the very least the openness to possibility, made psychic connections easier. If a true believer, even the least psychic person could make some kind of connection with the dead.

“We can’t stay there,” Mac said firmly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if ghosts were flocking around him, which they inevitably would because it was harder to hide being a psychic from ghosts than humans.

Once ghosts realized Mac was psychic, everything would fall apart. The afterlife was happier than life, but ghosts still wanted contact with life. They missed the people and lives they had left behind and wanted some part of that world, even if it was just through a blond psychic who was in over his head.

“What you afraid of ghosts, Mac?” Riley teased. Mostly, he loved ghosts, but sometimes, they terrified him. Ghosts couldn’t interfere with the living too much, not normally, but Mac was different. Sometimes they could reach out and touch him, and if they could do that, there was the potential that they could hurt him. Some had. He’d never been terribly injured by a ghost, but it still terrified him to think that they could hurt him. It was unfair that some monsters only existed for him.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Jack added in his dad voice. “I’ll check under your bed if it makes you feel better.”

“Ghosts don’t hide under the bed, Jack.”

Riley rolled her eyes, “You don’t know what ghosts do in their spare time.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s so afraid, the unknown,” Bozer replied.

“I’m not afraid of them,” Mac protested, “but it’s just creepy. I don’t want to sleep in a place that’s built over dead bodies.”

Bozer rolled his eyes, “Seriously, man, don’t be such a coward. You used to spend hours in the graveyard as a kid. It was practically your playground.” Mac was relieved when Bozer didn’t tell the part about Mac being known as the kid who thought he could talk to ghosts at school. “For some reason, I knew all that and was friends with you anyway,” he joked.

Mac hadn’t always avoided ghosts. As a kid, he had wanted to spend his every waking minute with them. He’d spend hours sitting by a random gravestone and talking to whatever spirits stopped by. Most grew very fond of him. Some would even protect him in subtle ways like pushing the wind so a ball hit a playground bully in the face. But spending all his time with dead people made Mac withdraw from the living, and at one point, he wanted to die. He thought, “If I end it all now, I can spend all my time with my ghost friends because there’s no one left in the human realm for me. I can go be with my mom and all the other friends I love most.” It had taken him awhile to realize being alive was a short experience compared to being dead.

Ghosts were a major part of his life, and always would be, but being around too many would drive him to a dark place.

Riley looked shocked at the revelation. “You went to a graveyard for fun as a child?”

Mac shrugged, “It was comfortable there. I don’t go there anymore. I haven’t been to one in years.” Mac couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a graveyard. His whole life felt like a graveyard.

“Yeah, why is that? When I asked you to go meet my dad, you said graveyards give you the heebie jeebies.”

“I definitely didn’t say ‘heebie jeebies.’”

“The point is, you went from being the graveyard king to afraid of ghosts.”

“I just learned life shouldn’t be lived with the dead. Can we drop it? I don’t really want to talk about how weird I was a child.” _And still am._

“Fine, but we’re still going to that hotel,” Bozer said.

“Okay, but don’t blame me if everything goes to hell.”

Jack ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry, Mac. I’ll protect you from the big bad ghosts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little blurb I thought I'd publish. I'll probably do short chapters for this story (and it probably won't be too long). Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave any feedback. Thanks for being awesome.


	3. Ghost in His Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac goes see O'Connor in action, and can't tell if he's a real psychic or not. Meanwhile, a ghost grates on Mac's nerves and ability to function.

“Come, Mac, get your skinny ass ready to go.” They’d all gathered in Mac’s hotel room trying to rouse him to get ready. Usually, it didn’t take much to get him going, but today he was dragging. It didn’t help that ghosts had been bothering him all night. One in particular had been screaming in his ear since he’d arrived just for the fun of torturing him. He had to watch out for that one. He didn’t want it reaching through the veil and trying to touch him. “We’ve got to go see O’Connor in action.”

“A psychic show, Jack? You think we’re going to learn what we need to know by going to watch this guy talk about people’s lost love ones? This isn’t our usual style. We don’t just walk in the front door. We sneak. Why aren’t we sneaking?”

Riley held back a chuckle. “You’re acting like we’ve never done something like this before. What’s got you so bothered about a fake psychic?”

“He isn’t fake,” Bozer argued.

Riley scoffed, “Yeah, and I can’t hack the NSA.”

“Guess you aren’t as good of a hacker as I thought,” Bozer quipped, and they both started giggling, but Mac couldn’t concentrate on his friends.

“You think your life is so good?” The mean spirit asked, his gray face and cruel eyes just inches away from Mac. “Mine is better.” The spirit buzzed like a bee— spirits could make fun noises (or in this case not so fun) that humans normally couldn’t.

Jack threw clothes at Mac. “Go take a shower.” Mac didn’t move. He didn’t want to accidentally touch the spirit.

“You like to resist a little, don’t you? Can’t play the rules.” The spirit continued torturing Mac. “I’d drag you back to the afterlife if I could. I have some friends who love to mess with the living. They’d get a real kick out of you. It’s hard to find humans who can communicate with us as well as you.”

Mac closed his eyes, but felt the ghost hovering over him, too close for comfort. If the ghost reached out, he might be able to touch Mac. He stopped talking and just started screaming and screaming. Jack was saying something to Mac, but Mac couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was the belligerent wailing of a ghost, and it was driving me crazy

“Stop it,” Mac yelled. He wanted to curl up in a ball, cover his ears, and cry, but none of those things would get the ghost away. It was no wonder he was good at taking torture; he’d been through the worse even at a young age. Some ghosts were just bad, and there was only so much he could to avoid it.

The ghost cackled as Jack’s face filled with worry. “Mac are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but the ghost was still hovering and screaming, and Mac couldn’t get himself to leave the bed with all the chaos around him.

“Shut up, Lloyd,” a quiet ghost eventually said, but Lloyd just laughed and screamed more.

The room had stilled, save for the unruly ghost. All the former jest was gone. “What’s wrong, Mac?” Riley asked when Mac hadn’t spoken. He was lying motionless on the bed, looking catatonic almost.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Bozer added. Mac almost laughed at the irony.

Mac tried to keep his voice level, but it was hard to hear his tone of the yelling. “We can’t stay at this hotel anymore. I’m not coming back.”

“Not a single haunted thing has happened. I think you’re safe,” Jack argued, but he didn’t have much fight in his voice.

“I can’t sleep here. Please, I need to go somewhere else.” Mac just hoped leaving would be enough to shake the bad ghost. Usually, the dead didn’t care enough to follow him around, but when they did, it meant trouble. Unfortunately, Mac wasn’t aware of a way to stop ghost harassment, unless he was drugged up. That wouldn’t make the ghosts disappear, though. It just allowed him to block his psychic senses. When ghost harassment happened, he had to wait until the ghost got bored. It was invasive, but he couldn’t take a spirit to court. Ghosts couldn’t stay in the human realm indefinitely, which meant they’d have to drop back in the ghost realm eventually.

Mac must have sounded desperate for Jack to change his mind about the hotel with so little back and forth. “Fine. We’ll book a room at another hotel. Now, please, go get ready. We’re going to be late.”

With a sigh, Mac got up, trying to pretend the ghost wasn’t there. He needed a Xanax. Those always calmed his senses, but he didn’t like to rely on drugs too much because that would create another set of problems that he didn’t want to deal with, and he never brought any with him when they were away. He didn’t want to have to answer questions about why he needed them.

* * *

 

With the ghost miles away at the hotel, Mac sat towards the front of the audience for O’Connor’s show. His leg jittered partly from nerves and partly from the four cups of coffee he’d had before they’d gotten there.

The room was full of spirits hoping that they’d get through to loved ones. Time and space was different for spirits, so ghosts were better off tracking their loved ones down than waiting to be tracked down. It was tricky for humans, even psychic ones, to locate a specific spirit in the realm of the dead. Mac had done it before, and he’d tried it many times with his mom, but if a spirit didn’t want to be found, it wouldn’t be.

The lights flickered and O’Connor entered the stage to a roaring applause. He pasted on a cheesy grin and gave a dramatic introduction, complete with a video reel of some of his “most memorable connections.” He went through an introductory spiel, building up the drama until he finally decided to start the actual readings.

“You,” O’Connor said pointing at Mac right away,“ with the blonde hair and brown leather jacket. I sense a lot of spiritual energy around you.” He wasn’t wrong about that. The spirits had gathered around him as best as they could, probably knowing that he was the real psychic in the room. Ghosts were great at sensing psychic energy. Plus, being able to make eye contact with them was a… ahem.. dead giveaway. One spirit was even sitting on Jack’s lap, or as much as a spirit could sit. Mac tried not to laugh at that. Jack would flirt with her if he could see her, even if she was dead. The woman also seemed to have Jack’s cheesy sense of humor. They’d be perfect together.

“I’ve never sensed so much spiritual energy around one person.” O’Connor almost looked confused as he said it.

“But the ones here aren’t the one you’re interested.”

“I— uh—” There was no way O’Connor could know that. He wasn’t a mind reader.

“You want to make contact with a maternal spirit,” Mac’s eyes widened. “If I had to guess, your mother.”

“That’s what your grandfather told me, anyway.” Fraud. Mac’s grandfather wasn’t anywhere near that building. He would know if he was.

“My grandfather isn’t here.”

“He’s wondering why you didn’t bring his gift with you. You normally take it everywhere.” Mac checked his pocket, realizing he’d forgotten to bring his Swiss Army knife. There’s no way this guy could know that, but Mac’s grandfather couldn’t be there. Mac didn’t see the man anywhere, and he didn’t even hear the man’s voice. There was no way O’Connor could communicate with someone Mac couldn’t.

“What else did he say?” Mac prodded, trying to catch the guy in a lie.

“He wants you to know that your mom had good reasons for leaving you.” He knew about his mom leaving. No one knew about. It wasn’t exactly something Mac could tell people. He imagines how that would go over. “Oh yeah, I used to talk to my dead mother, but then she disappeared and never came back.”

O’Connor wrapped things up with Mac with a few vague sentiments like “you are loved.” And then moved on with his show. Mac could barely pay attention, still thinking about what O’Connor said to him. “Your mom had good reasons for leaving you,” repeated through his head. He needed to know what those good reasons were.

* * *

 

At the new, less ghostly hotel, Mac was reeling, unable to understand how O’Connor had known so much. Jack was sitting across from him, trying to calm Mac down while Bozer and Riley were in another room, working on digging into O’Connor’s nefarious acts.

“What’s got into you, man. He’s just a fake psychic. No need to let him mess with your head like this.”

“He almost tricked me and I’m…” Mac trailed off. He couldn’t exactly say that a fake medium almost fooled a real medium, but maybe this would be a good time to come clean. Although, Mac wasn’t sure he was 100% a fake. He sensed that O’Connor had some kind of connection to the spirit world, even if it wasn’t strong. He also sensed that most of the guy’s act was just show. But he had to have somehow connected to Mac’s grandfather. Mac couldn’t figure out how, though.

“It was just a cold read, Mac. He might’ve even done research on you before the show started. He’s scam like the rest of them.”

“That’s the thing, Jack. I don’t think he is a scam.”

“He obviously got things wrong.”

“Yeah, but just because he sometimes fakes it sometimes doesn’t mean he can’t sense the dead. I think it’s more like when the spirit realm doesn’t give him anything, he has to play the act.’

“You can’t seriously think that, Mac.”

“He knew my mom left me.”

“She didn’t leave you. She died,” Jack protested.

“It’s not that simple. It wasn’t just her dying. That’s not the part that he was talking about.”

“Explain it to me.”

“You won’t believe me, but I don’t think I can tell you what you need to know about O’Connor without telling you something crazy.” They needed Mac’s information for the case, even if he wasn’t wild about the thought of having to share it. Last time he had tried, people had thought he was crazy.

“I can’t believe what you never tell. Try me. I’m very open to things. You know that.

He figured he might as well just spit it out. No sense dragging it out. Jack would think he was crazy, but at least he wouldn’t have to feel like he was hiding himself anymore. “I see dead people, Jack.”

Jack laughed. “Good one, Mac.”

Mac almost backtracked and played it off as a joke, but a moment of braveness rushed over him. “I’m being serious.”

“That’s impossible. You know how much I love me some Bruce Willis, but there’s no such thing as a six sense.” Mac was going to have prove it. It was hard but he if he concentrated, he might be able to channel a ghost who knows Jack. It was an advanced skill, and one he hadn’t practiced in a while, but maybe he could do it to prove his sanity. “Don’t go all whacky on me.”

Mac closed his eyes. He’d have to cut through the space between the living and the dead. Many called it a veil, and Mac accepted the terminology, but it was more like reaching though a wall of transparent gelatin. He searched for a connection to Jack, struggling through the sticky barrier with his mind, and a weak connection was starting to come through. A woman he thought. If he focused a little more, he might be able to pull her all the way into the land of the living, or as far in as spirits could go.

“Hoss, what are you doing?”

“Shh. I need to concentrate.” Her voice was becoming clearer. She died young, sixteen or so, and was talking about how Jack was the love of her life.

She appeared by Jack’s side, coming through the veil. “There’s a ghost here now. I think you might know her.”

“Don’t go putting on some crazy psychic act for me.”

“It isn’t an act.”

“Stop. I don’t want you to do this.”

“Do you believe me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I have to do this.” The girl beside Mac was beaming, looking excited at the chance of being able to connect to Jack, who was probably one of the least psychic people around and couldn’t make contact himself. “Her name is Antoinette, and she calls you her handsome cowboy.”

Jack’s eyes snapped up. “Cut it out.”

“She says you were her first crush. You’ve never told me about her before, so you know I can’t just be pulling this out of my ass.”

“Seriously, man, it’s freaky. Stop.”

“You went to a dance together just before she died”

“Mac, don’t go there. I don’t want to go there with you. The past is in the past, and I don’t need you bringing it up.”

“Do you believe me? If you believe me, I can stop. I’m not crazy. I’m not conning you. I’m a psychic medium, and Antoinette is right here. I promise.”

“I don’t know how you know all that, but it can’t be because you talk to ghosts.”

“I see them too. Sometimes I can even touch them.” He turned to Antoinette, realizing his mistake. “You can’t tell anyone I can do that.” She nodded. She was a sweet girl, and he was pretty sure he could trust her not to crack his boundaries. “Antoinette’s eyes are a grayish blue. She has blonde hair, and she wears an ‘A’ necklace. She has a scar by her left eye and her feet are a mess because she was a ballet dancer.”

A tear rolled down Jack’s cheek. “I loved her.”

Mac nodded. “She knows that. She loves you.” Mac’s head ached. He’d been dealing with a lot of spirits today, and too much contact made him start to feel floaty and made his burn distantly. Pulling spirits from the afterlife took a lot more energy than if they chose to be there of their own will. “Jack, I need to let her go back. I’m starting to feel fuzzy.”

“Is she okay.”

“She more than okay. She’s happy, and she’s having a great time in the realm of the dead. She hardly ever comes to the realm of the living anymore.

“She’s not disfigured is she?”

“No, Jack. She’s the version of herself she chose to be. She has a tennis match to get back to. Can I let her go back now?”

Jack nodded, a little sadly. “Okay, Mac. Let her go.” And Mac did, letting her go back through the jelly into the place where she belonged. Because at the end of the day, that’s where spirits belonged.

“She gone.”

“It feels different in here.”

“Maybe there’s a little psychic in you after all.”

“You really can see ghosts, can’t you?”

“More than I’d like sometimes.”

“That’s so damn cool.”

“It’s not, not most of the time at least. Ghosts are a lot to deal with.”

“It’s like a superpower.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Mac warned.

“What about the team?” Mac wasn’t ready for that. For now, only Jack needed to know. He could help Mac cope with the ghosts without Mac having to feel like the freak who could communicate with the dead. He could uphold his normal façade for a while longer.

“No. Jack, this isn’t a part of myself I like. I just thought you needed to know. Sometimes, the ghosts get unruly, and it helps to have someone know what’s going on.”

“Is that why you were freaking out at the hotel?”

“Yeah, there was this ghost that kept yelling at me. He didn’t hurt me, but it’s scary and annoying.”

“That’s why you don’t like being psychic?”

 “Partly, but also because it’s hard to live in this realm when the land of the dead is so tempting. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes I feel more connected to the dead. I’m a bit of a zombie. That’s why I avoid graveyards. I used to spend too much there as a child, and let’s just say, I started thinking that it would be cool to spend all my time with my dead friends.”

Jack’s face grew tense, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you still feel that way?”

“I never feel it seriously enough to do anything, but sometimes it’s hard for me to rationalize why I should live. It’s like, well, there’s nothing to be lost with death.”

“There has to be something, or what is the point?”

“Well, they’re just different experiences, and I tell myself that I want to live this experience the most I can before I pass over because spirits can’t interact in the realm of the living fully. They can visit, but it’s mostly them just watching. And, to some extent, I watch their world too. So, there are things to be lost, but death is nothing to worry about.”

“It must be scary to have so many answers.”

“It must be scarier not to have them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while on this story, so I hope you enjoyed this update. Thanks for reading. As always, feel free to leave feedback.


	4. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team makes a plan to figure out what O'Connor is hiding.

The team was on a video call with Matty, crowded into their new hotel room. “Riley did you find anything useful for us?” Matty asked.

“Yeah, I think I found a location that might be of interest. There’s a psychic’s club just outside of Vegas that O’Connor frequents.”

“A psychic’s club,” Jack asked, never having heard of such a thing.

Riley shrugged, “I guess it’s a place where psychics gather to do whatever so-called psychics do when they’re not scamming people.”

Jack glanced at Mac to check his expression. “Maybe they’re not all frauds,” Jack said.

“You’re team psychics-are-real now?” Riley asked skeptically.

Jack, a comically bad liar with the team, tried to keep his tone neutral but ended up sounding squeaky, “No, I just… I think…I guess I like to be open to possibility.” Mac shook his head at Jack’s counterproductive attempts at diverting suspicion.

“Yes, man! Join the good team,” Bozer fist bumped Jack.

“I’m not on any team,” Jack insisted.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe or not,” Matty cut in. “Tell us more about the psychic club, Riley.”

“Right, this club is called Lady Augusta’s. From what I can ascertain, there’s a lot of criminal activity in this place. Gangsters, smugglers, and thieves have all been seen coming in and out of Lady Augusta’s, and I doubt it’s a coincidence that O’Connor spends a lot of his free time here too.”

“So, you think this is the heart of his trafficking operation?” Mac asked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach that he was going to have to pay this place a visit. It would be a nightmare. Establishments with either criminal activity or psychics tended to attract unruly spirits, and with both qualities, Lady’s Augusta’s would be crawling with ghosts that Mac didn’t want getting near him.

“It seems that way. I think a little undercover work is in order.”

“How do we get in?” Mac had a feeling he knew the answer.

“Someone will have to pretend to be a psychic.”

Jack piped up, “Mac would be great at the job, and I could go in as his spirit bodyguard or some shit like that.”

Mac shot Jack a look, “Spirit bodyguard?”

He nodded, “Yeah, like I protect you from getting overwhelmed by all the ghosties.”

“That’s stupid.” Jack couldn’t possibly protect Mac. Nothing could. If ghosts wanted to hurt Mac, they could if they figured out how to pass his thin barrier.

Matty looked mildly amused, “I think that sounds like a perfect plan.”

“Looks like we’re going into the house of all things spooky, Mac.” Now that he was a believer, Jack sounded excited about the prospect more than scared. Mac was terrified. He hadn’t even been there, but he could feel in his gut that Lady Augusta’s had a dangerous, horrific energy that he didn’t want to cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little interlude. Next chapter will have Mac and Jack actually going to lady Augusta's. Thanks so much for reading. Hopefully, it won't be too long before I have the next chapter up. This story won't be too extensive.


	5. Cruel, Cruel Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Jack go to Lady Augusta's to see if they can catch O'Connor in the act.

On the surface, Lady Augusta’s looked exactly what you would expect a club of psychics to look like with talismans, relics, and other psychic artifacts. The décor was gaudy, and over the top. Some of it was fake, but the antiques were haunting. Spirits lingered in the light and the shadows. Some were shadowing themselves, making themselves imperceptible to humans, which spirits liked to do when they wanted to be covert, but Mac was strong enough that he could sense them and see their outlines, even if he couldn’t see them as clearly as normal.

The room was oddly quiet, and Mac felt eyes on him, scrutinizing the mysterious newcomer and his Texan companion. The room was oddly quiet for how many spirits were in there. Maybe they knew the danger the club held or maybe being constantly surrounded by psychics meant the spirits didn’t feel deprived of human contact and therefore could be quieter. Mac wasn’t sure, but it was eerie no matter what reason.

He regretted walking in, and stood for a while, not sure what he was supposed to do. What was the protocol for entering a psychics’ club, especially one that was fronting a criminal operation? Jack seemed just as confused. Even he seemed to sense the haunted energy despite not being able to see, hear, or consciously sense the spirits.

Mac was greeted eventually by a spirit. “Hello, pretty boy,” she cooed, flipping a mop of frizzy brown hair from her shoulder. Hearing the spirit talk was almost a relief after all the silence, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to her.

Mac ignored the woman, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t make eye contact with any other spirits. Another woman greeted him, this time one who was alive, “Welcome to Lady Augusta’s, sugar.” She ignored Jack. Her hair was a powdery blonde, coiled in tight ringlets that looked like they had just been released from curlers. She wore a long, bohemian dress and chunky jewelry. As far as psychics went, she looked the part. Mac wasn’t sure that she was the real deal or not, but if she was, he wasn’t sure how she could stand being around so many spirits. There were more people in the room than living people. “You’re a real powerful one, aren’t you?” she asked. “Your friend… not so much.”

“A Ouija board is about as psychic as him.” Ouija boards actually didn’t channel ghosts better than any other object. They had no special attributes. They were just objects, as spiritual as a pair of scissors or a tin can.

The lady laughed, offering her hand to shake, “I’m Angie. People like to play with those pieces of junk, thinking they’re doing something special. If only they knew. Spirits don’t like to come when people act so foolishly. No one likes to be a puppet, even the dead.”

“I guess you’re the real deal,” Mac commented. “My name is Mac, and my friend is Jack. He’s here to make sure the spirits don’t drive me too crazy.”

“You can see them, can’t you?”

“How do you know that?” Mac asked. Perhaps, she had psychic abilities beyond mediumship, but Mac had never actually met someone who could tell the future or read minds. From what he had seen, that information always came from the spirit world, which experienced time and space very differently than on Earth. Spirits couldn’t know too much about what was to come on Earth, but they did have inklings and general ideas of the future, which they often liked to share. Plus, nothing was ever certain because like most things in life, the future could be changed. There was no sure destiny.

“I’ve heard whispering about you for a while.”

“Spirits have been talking about _me_?” The thought sent a chill through Mac as he worried about what they might say.

“They didn’t say anything bad, but I know not a lot of psychics exist like you. You can see them, and I suspect you can do more too.” Mac was relieved that she didn’t say, but he could see in her eyes that she knew. She knew he could touch them and reach into the spirit realm. “I’ve been praying for someone with your skills.”

“What makes his skills so special?” Jack asked, not keeping up with the conversation.

“His skills are far beyond what most psychics can do. I’ve never heard of a psychic who can do what he can do.”

“Like what?”

She put a finger to her lips, speaking quietly. “We can’t talk about it in front of the spirits. Most mean no harm, but the ones here cannot know what he can do, not if he is to be safe, and I know O’Connor will want him safe.”

“O’Connor?” Jack asked, clearly unsettled by how much the woman seemed to know. He was still new to the psychic world, barely able to keep up with all the lingo and nuances. He still didn’t understand how it all worked, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

“That’s why you’re here, aren’t you? You traced O’Connor here and wanted to see what a community of fellow psychics looked like.”

“That’s right,” Mac said, knowing it was only partly right. That was the less important reason he had chosen to go Lady Augusta’s.

“Hello, again, MacGyver,” O’Connor’s voice was hot and breathy in Mac’s ear. A chill ran up Mac’s spine. When had O’Connor come into the room? “It seems we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t we talk in my office?” Mac walked with O’Connor, and Jack moved to follow. “Leave your bodyguard behind. This is a conversation for between psychics.” The tone left no room for argument, stern and dangerous. Mac took a deep breath, glancing at Jack to say he could handle himself. He followed O’Connor to his office, hearing the door click behind them. Mac wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he was somewhat calmed by the fact that he knew there was life after death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to leave feedback.


	6. Meeting O'Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac meets with O'Connor (it is what it says on the tin)

O’Connor didn’t bother with introductions. “Rumor has it that you’re the most powerful medium this century. Maybe of all time.” Wow, word got around fast in a haunted old mansion full of psychics, and the thought of other people knowing the extent of his capabilities was terrifying because if they knew what he could, they could use it against him.

Mac shook his head, “That’s not true. Sometimes, a rumor is just a rumor.”

“Is it a rumor that you have the gift of the touch?” O’Connor asked, a smug smile on his face.

Mac shifted in his seat, not sure how O’Connor had gotten that information. Mac kept that gift very hidden. “I don’t know what that means,” Mac played dumb.

O’Connor smirked, “I know that’s not true. I saw you do it once.” Wait, what? Mac rarely ever took his gift to that level. It was too dangerous, too all encompassing.

“You couldn’t have.” Mac had never met O’Connor before, and certainly hadn’t shown off his gift as if it was a party trick. Very few people, especially living ones, knew what Mac could do.

“I did, and it was the only time I’ve seen a spirit, fully formed and not just a vague voice. It was the most incredible moment of my life. I saw a little boy in a graveyard, reaching out and touching a woman.” Mac’s mom. “It took me a while, but eventually, I realized that only one of the people I was seeing was alive, but there you were, holding hands and hugging you. You were so little, and so unaware of how remarkable your powers were. I tried to keep track of you, always wanting to bring you here, but now, you’ve come to me.”

“You’re mistaken,” Mac insisted. There was no way he was going to admit anything to that lunatic.

“Don’t be afraid. I can keep you safe, Angus.”

“It’s Mac.”

“Mac, like I was saying, I can keep you safe if you let me. I know how to keep spirits away.”

“Yeah, me too, a Xanax washed down with a glass vodka. I don’t want to spend my life drugged up, O’Connor.”

“Call me Desmond, or Des, and I’m not talking drugs. I have talismans that will keep you safe.”

Mac scoffed, “Talismans don’t work.”

“Zelda’s charm will.” Zelda was a legendary psychic, who was perhaps the best medium of all time, certainly of her own time. She, like Mac, had the gift of the touch. “It ensured that spirits could only interact with Zelda so long as she wanted them to interact with her. She wore it constantly because it kept her safe. I have it, and I’ll give it to you if you will work with me.”

“I’m not meant to be a professional psychic. I have a life to go home to, a family who loves me, and I can’t leave that behind.” Mac wanted to get into O’Connor’s inner circle, but he had to drive a hard bargain, not make the exchange look like it was too easy. He could see his gifts for a while, uncover O’Connor’s deviancy, and then bring the guy down.

“Come on, Mac. Wouldn’t you love to be around people like you, people who don’t think it’s crazy that you can see ghosts.”

“We’re not the same. I don’t _want_ to use my abilities. Most of the time, I’d like them to go away. So, please understand when I say that I don’t want to work for you or be the psychic you call when your own powers just won’t cut it.” Mac bit his lip, hoping that he hadn’t been _too_ hard, but O’Connor grated his nerves, making him feel on edge and fidgety. He was just like Mac’s dad.

“Don’t you know how _powerful_ you could be. You could have anything you want. The ability to touch the dead gives you special access to a whole other realm of knowledge.”

“Spirits don’t know the future,” Mac explained, “They couldn’t give me much if I asked.”

“But you can call them from the afterlife, can’t you? You could bring Einstein and get him to explain his theories.” Mac had actually done that once, but Einstein hadn’t been in the mood to teach much of lesson. Mostly, he had just complained about Beethoven driving him crazy, talking his ear off and always playing the piano. It was interesting how language was no barrier in the afterlife. Everyone understood each other and Mac too could understand them, even if they never knew English. He wasn’t sure how it worked, but it was some odd, automatic translation type thing. “And spirits do know stuff, more than we do. They can sense the future in the way we can sense them. You can make contact with the dead. Do you not want to see how far your gift can take you. You try to hide it so much that we’ve only reached the tip of what you can do.”

Mac figured he’d given O’Connor a touch enough time, and that it was time to act like he’d been convinced by the conman’s act. “I don’t go anywhere without my friend, Jack,” Mac told O’Connor, doing some bargaining of his own.

“Of course, anyone you want on your personal team, you can have.”

“I also want you to pay the expenses for my hotel for the time I’m here.”

“I’ll do you one better. You and your friends can stay here. I run a little bed and breakfast upstairs for my special guests.”

“You’re only saying that because you want to keep me closer.”

O’Connor smirked, “You’re right, but once you see the kinds of things I do, you’ll want to be right here in the action.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep with all the spirits here,” Mac countered, honestly concerned.

“I’ve blocked the spirits from entering the upstairs.”

“How?” Mac had never heard of such a thing, didn’t know if blocking spirits from crossing was possible in anything beyond movies. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

O’Connor chuckled, “Have you never met another psychic before?” Mac had not. O’Connor read Mac’s face, “Oh, you haven’t. Kid, you have a lot to learn.”

“Are you going to tell me how you keep the spirits away?”

O’Connor laughed again. “I can’t reveal all my secrets at once. What I need to know is if you want me to teach you. I’ll give you all the knowledge you want to know about the psychic world, and you’ll let me have access to your abilities.” He offered his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Mac shook it, “Deal.” Jack was going to kill Mac for not consulting him before he made a deal with the devil, but Mac knew it would be the best way to bring O’Connor down, and maybe he’d learn a thing or two in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not sure where this story is going, but I have some vague plans in store (like a scene where Jack helps Mac with unruly spirits). Thanks so much for reading. Leave some of your thoughts if you have a direction you want this to go.


	7. You're Getting Very Sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac has trouble sleeping. Jack helps.

Mac settled into his room at Lady Augusta’s, and it was eerily quiet. O’Connor hadn’t been kidding when he said that no spirits would bother him, but if he was honest, he was a little bothered by how quiet it was. It was so quiet that he found himself going next door, knocking anxiously on Jack’s door to break up the disconcerting quiet. Mac would need Jack and his big mouth to calm him down.

Jack opened the door, only looking half surprised to see Mac there. “It’s late, man. Don’t you think you should try to get to sleep?” he asked but let Mac in immediately. Mac flopped down on the chair in the corner of Jack’s room by the bay window.

“It’s quiet.” Mac complained.

“Yeah,” Jack yawned, “that’s what you want when you’re trying to sleep.”

“There’s no ghosts.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? They bother you, don’t they.”

“Sometimes, but it’s too quiet now, and I don’t like it.” _It scares me,_ Mac didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. Jack could see the fear on the kid’s face.

Jack sat on the edge of his bed, crossing his hands, leaning toward Mac. “What can I do?”

Mac stood up, feeling stupid for bothering Jack. “Nothing, I guess. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not. It’s hard to deal with what we’re not used to. If a ghost started talking in my ear, I’d be freaked out, but I guess it’s the opposite for you. Jack patted the bed beside him. Come on, sleep here for the night and I’ll talk to you about Die Hard until you fall asleep, although I don’t understand why Die Hard talk of all things puts you to sleep.”

“Because I’ve heard you talk about it a million times!”

“I don’t talk about it _that_ much.”

“When we got captured in Turkmenistan you talked about it so much that you annoyed our captors into letting us go.”

“No, they let us go because you made a bomb out of that slop they gave us and an old match.”

Mac laughed. “That was only in case your plan didn’t work.”

“Har har har,” Jack said, not giving Mac the satisfaction of a laugh. “Come on, get into bed.” Jack pulled back the covers.

Mac tried to stifle his yawn but failed. “I can’t take your bed, Jack.”

“It’s big enough for two. Besides, your scrawny ass can’t take up too much space.”

“You know I kick.” Boy, did Jack know. They’d had to share too many beds in their years of working together not to know. Jack would wake up with little bruises, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make his kid feel safe.

“We’ve had worse sleeping arrangements. Remember… where was that? With the scary ass spiders that we woke up to all around us.”

“Venezuela,” Mac replied, getting under the covers of the bed. “They were Goliath Bird-eating spiders.”

“Whatever they were, they were awful. I didn’t sleep for days after that.” Jack rambled on about all the weird creatures they had encountered during their various trips around the world, eventually transitioning into Die Hard. Listening to his best friend’s voice, Mac start to drift off to sleep, comforted by the chatter.

“Goodnight, Jack,” he said just before his eyes drooped closed, unable to stay open anymore.

Jack smiled, pleased at his handiwork. "Goodnight, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short interlude before next chapter. A lot of chapters in this story will be brief I think. Thanks for reading xxx


	8. Psychic Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Jack meet O'Connor's crew.

The next morning, O’Connor introduced Mac to the team of psychics he’d be working with. Jack stood beside Mac, ready to protect him if anything happened.

O’Connor had explained that all his hires could communicate with the dead, but each had different criminal attributes. First, he pointed to a woman, probably about sixty, who had a crooked smile and dark, cold eyes. “This is Anna,” O’Connor said. “We call her the ghost possessor. She has a special gift of getting ghosts to do what she wants. If she asks a ghost to do something, they do it.”

“How?” Mac asked, needing that skill himself. Maybe that was how O’Connor kept the ghosts away.

O’Connor shrugged, “I know better to ask questions.”

Anna smiled coyly, flipping her curly hair off her shoulder. “If I gave my tricks to just anyone, I’d be out of a job. Let’s just say I have a knack of knowing what people want, not just the dead. Nothing to do with my psychic skills. Just a little talent I’ve picked up. _Oh,_ Mac thought, _she’s just a good old-fashioned grifter._

Next, O’Connor introduced a burly man, “This is Beef. Don’t ask his real name because he won’t say it.”

“Beef?” Jack said with a laugh and Mac nudged him before he said anything that would upset the not so gentle giant.

Beef just grunted. Trying not to look Beef in the eye, Mac turned back to O’Connor, “What does he do.”

“He’s security for all you psychics, but he’s slightly psychic himself, so he can sense if any ghosts are near and are going to get in your way. He’ll keep you safe when things get dangerous because kid, we’re not doing things that are easy here. We get into sticky situations, but we’ve always gotten out.”

Mac forced a smile, trying to act cheeky. “Well as long as we get out.” He looked around the room at who else was there. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to a small, thin man with lifeless eyes.

O’Connor gave him a funny look, “Who?”

“The short, thin guy,” Mac clarified, and O’Connor still looked confused.

Finally, a dark haired, dark eyes man clued him in, “That’s peppy. He’s a ghost, Angus.”

Mac looked up sharply, _how does he know my name? I haven’t even been introduced to them yet, certainly not as Angus._ It also concerned him that he hadn’t recognized the ghost as a ghost. Ghosts had always seemed very life like to him, but it’d been a long time since he’d mistaken one for human. He usually could sense who was otherworldly.

“How do you know him?” Jack asked protectively.

“Oh, that’s just Murdoc. He knows things he shouldn’t know. Like you, he’s a powerful psychic, but he’s also a grade A psychopath.”

“Proudly,” Murdoc added with a grin.

O’ Connor continued, “He’s the kind of guy who you’re happy to have on your side, but you have to be sure to keep him on your side.”

Murdoc got eerily close to Mac’s face, and Jack shoved him away, “Keep away, weirdo.”

Murdoc didn’t seem offended, “Oh, I don’t think that will be possible. As the two most powerful psychics

“Well, just remember, Murdoc,” O’Connor replied, “You’re not the big shot psychic here anymore. I’ve gone and found someone better.”

Again, Murdoc seemed creepily unaffected by the words, “He can’t be that good. Puppy’s like him don’t have the guts to reach their full potential.”

Before Mac could come up with a quip to return to Murdoc, a petite woman entered the room, heading straight for O'Connor with a cup of coffee and a muffin.

"Thank you, darling." O’Connor pulled the woman toward him, giving her a kiss. “This is Leslie, my wife.”

“Another psychic?” Jack asked. Odds were that he was right. Other than Jack, they were all mediums of varying degrees, each having different psychic and criminal talents.”

“Nah, I couldn’t make a marriage work with another psychic. She’s a witch.”

Mac’s eyes widened, “Witches exist?”

Leslie scoffed, “Of course they do. How else do you think black magic is possible? You psychics sure can’t do it. How do you think my hubby managed to secure the bedrooms? He had me work my magic.”

“Is that safe?” Mac had thought magic had been nothing more than a myth, but from what he had heard, acts of magic always had a cost.

“You ever seen black magic, kid?” she asked.

“I’ve never seen any magic,” he confessed. “Not that I know of.”

“Me neither,” Jack agreed.

She laughed, “All modern magic is black magic. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be any fun. I wasn’t born a witch. I chose to be one. Once upon a time, there were good witches. Fortunately, they’ve all gone extinct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this short chapter setting the ground for seeing O'Connor's darker acts.


	9. Black Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Magic is bad

Mac and Jack had been undercover on O’Connor’s team for over two-months, but they still had very little to show for her. Yet, Mac could sense that he was starting to gain trust in the operation, which was exactly what he needed. Even so, it was obvious that O’Connor was slow and careful to make friends with anyone.

“Good morning, Mac,” O’Connor said, sipping on his coffee. Morning or not, O’Connor always seemed to have a cup of coffee, and he never switched to decaf. Mac would be too jittery to sleep or even function if he had as much caffeine as O’Connor did, which was saying something because Mac really loved drinking coffee to keep his energy levels up during the day.

“Good Morning, Angus,” Murdoc added, a smile appearing on his face. That guy was always smiling and trying to buddy up with Mac. It was obvious there was something seriously wrong with him.

Beef was beside Mac, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared straight ahead with a vaguely annoyed expression. Meanwhile, Anna was chomping on gum, making it clear that she hated all of their guts. Leslie, with all her witchy powers, was in the kitchen preparing some kind of brew, at least that’s what Mac was told. It scared him. She had said that all magic was black magic, meaning that whatever she was doing had to be something bad.

“Why are we gathered here?” Jack asked curtly, hating the atmosphere he was in.

“We’re going to go out.”

“Go out and do what,” Mac asked.

O’Connor lips twitched as he contemplated whether or not he could trust Mac and Jack yet. Finally, his lips parted. “My wife is making us a special potion, and I’m going to have you all, with the help of ghosts, convince selected people to drink it.”

“What will it do to them?” Mac inquired, heart starting to pound in his chest.

“Just render them pliable to our interests, nothing too bad.”

“Pliable to what.”

Beef gave a grin, “Kid, why don’t you leave those kind of details to us. All you have to do is lure them back here by showing them you are connected to their love ones and then convincing them that if they come back here that you can give them a better reading.”

Mac sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to get more details out of them. They weren’t ready to let him in on the big secrets, and somehow, he’d have to find another way to get the information he needed to take O’Connor down.

Jack looked equally worried, “How dangerous is this?”

O’Connor remained careful about what he said. “It should be of no danger to you.”

“Trust me,” Murdoc added, “O’Connor is sure to keep his team safe. He needs us to be in good condition.”

Mac caught Murdoc’s gaze, and they stared at each other for a moment as O’Connor went on with his spiel, and Mac half listened, the other half of his consciousness focusing on Murdoc’s beady eyes staring at him.

A ghost, that no one else seemed to see, leaned into Mac’s ear and said, “Murdoc would like to talk to you. He says it’s important.” The worst part was when he felt the ghost’s hand touch his shoulder. _He knows. Murdoc knows that I can touch ghosts._ The only consolation was that the ghost didn’t seem to want to hurt Mac. She was a gentle looking woman. Nevertheless, a shiver ran down Mac’s spine. _Oh, great. He’s having spirits do his bidding, and I am vulnerable._ “He says not to bring your little bodyguard, and if I were you, I’d listen to him. Murdoc doesn’t like people who stand in his way.”

Nodding to show he understood, Mac waited for the ghost to pull away, and shot Murdoc a look to show he understood his instructions. _Maybe I can get something out of Murdoc. He’s too unpredictable for me to know what or why, but I have to try._

“Jack,” Mac whispered. “I have to meet Murdoc when we’re done here. If I don’t come back within an hour, come looking for me.”

Jack looked like he wanted to protest but thought better of it. “Okay kid but be careful. I don’t trust that guy.”

Mac agreed, “No one should.”

* * *

 

After the group meeting, Murdoc pulled Mac aside into a small room that was eerily quiet. “What is it?” Mac asked impatiently. If this is about that Lindsey Lohan marathon you want to watch, I’m not interested.”

“Very funny, Angus. It’s not.” Murdoc’s face lit up. “I know you’re not a criminal,” he finally said. “You have good guy written all over you.”

“I’m not—”

“What are you? CIA, no, you’re partner maybe but you don’t have a stick up your ass. Everly? No, they’re all idiots. Oh, I know. The Phoenix Foundation.”

“How did you—”

“Hush now,” Murdoc said, tapping Mac’s lips with his index finger. “Let me speak. You’re here to take this place down, and I’m going to help you.”

“Why would you help me. I know for sure that you’re a criminal through and through.” Mac wasn’t buying it that Murdoc had any will to goodness.

“I’m not a boy scout, not, but I didn’t come here to play nice. I have a vendetta against out dearest Desmond.”

Mac rolled his eyes. Of course, Murdoc had a vendetta. He probably had plenty of vendetta just for the sake of having vendetta. Having enemies probably amused him. Murdoc was just that kind of criminal, the once in the lifetime whacko who got joy out of being a whacko. “What did O’Connor do to you? Call you a creep one too many times?” Mac asked sarcastically.

Murdoc actually laughed at that. “No, not quite. Let’s just say that I tolerate many things, but I don’t tolerate someone trying to hurt my son.”

Mac nearly chuckled, thinking Murdoc was joking until he saw pure seriousness in Murdoc’s eyes. It seemed unfathomable not only that Murdoc had a son but that Murdoc had a son he actually loved enough to protect. Mac would’ve thought that Murdoc would have been the kind of father who made living hell. “What did he do?” Mac asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

“Doesn’t matter. But just know that we can help each other out here.”

“I don’t think you’re company I want to be keeping.” The room felt chillier whenever Murdoc walked in, and Mac wasn’t fond of it.

“Come on, Boy Scout. Let me show you something. I think you’ll like it.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Murdoc.”

“No, you will.” Murdoc handed him a key. There’s a bookcase in the study. Look for the special book, pull, and it will take you down a secret hallway. At the end of the hallway, you’ll find a door. Open it. Take your bodyguard if you insist.”

“Is this some kind of trap?”

“No. It’s what you want. What we both want.” Mac was desperate enough to believe him.

* * *

 

An hour later, Mac and Jack snuck into the study. They stood by the bookcase, hunting the books for one that looked like it could be the switch for the hidden door in the bookcase. “In all my years on the job, I’ve never actually encountered a bookcase door before. It’s very the Hardy Boys.”

“I prefer Nancy Drew,” Mac said with a smile. “Jack, look at this,” he said, pointing at a book that looked just a bit out of place to the rest. “This is our special book.”

And sure enough, when Jack pulled at the book, the staircase pulled open, revealing a small passageway with a door at the end.  Jack’s eyes were wide. Spiderwebs lined the edges of the small entryway. “After you,” Jack said. “Ghost whisperers first.”

Mac sighed, “Fine, but I’m going to tell Matty how much of a coward you are.”

Jack laughed, “The joke’s on you because Matty already knows how much of a coward I am.”

“Right.” Mac lead, walking towards the diminutive hallway, if it could even be called that. Carefully, he put the key in the lock, twisting it until the door opened. He half expected it to be some trap Murdoc had put in place, but as he flashed his phone light into the room, his heart sank as dozens of sets of eyes shone through the darkness, illuminated for the first time in who knows how long. Women, men, and children stared back it him, not saying a peep, but he could tell they were terrified. And the ghosts, many people in the room were living, but there were also so many ghosts that Mac was overwhelmed. They were screaming, filling Mac’s ear’s with pained noises while the people who were still living with dreadfully silent.

The ghosts rushed towards him, and before he could do anything about it, his vision went black and his body started to tumble to the cold, hard ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this. Next story up: the conclusion to Heavenly Travelers.


	10. Phantoms and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END

When Mac woke up, he was in the hospital, Jack sitting beside him, he looked up groggily. “What happened?” he asked, wanting to know that O’Connor was behind bars. It was a hospital, which meant that there were ghosts all around, but it almost felt comforting to escape the quiet, ghostless chambers of O’Connor’s headquarters.

“Turns out O’Connor was drugging people so that’d they’d be pliant and get into cars with his crew under the guise of psychics helping them connect with their loved ones. It was a special potion to fill them with longing to the point that they would do nearly anything. He’d store them in that room we found until they could be trafficked.

The memories of the small, dank room came flooding back, “People died in that room. I saw their ghosts. They stayed there, looking over the people who were forced to stay there. Hundred died before they could be trafficked. They came rushing at me. It was like a stampeded. I felt their hands and feet against me. They touched me Jack.”

“Yeah, I know. They knocked you out and you have bruises all over. I didn’t know ghosts could do that.”

“I wanted to connect to them. I felt so bad, and my guard was down. The line between the living and the dead is so thin and I let myself enter their world more than I normally would. When that happens, they can touch me. It’s not usual, but it’s a gift I have.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” Jack said with a sigh.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It just kind of happened. I was so overwhelmed with all the people— living in dead, and I wanted them to feel connected to something other than that awful room. I wanted to free them just like we freed the living.”

“But ghosts can leave whenever they want to, can’t they?”

Mac nodded, “Yeah, but I guess sometimes it’s hard to let go of the bad things until the bad things are fixed.”

Jack agreed, “I suppose so.”

Mac was exhausted and his body ached, but he was glad that O’Connor was going to be put to justice. “What about that Murdoc guy?” Mac asked. “Whatever happened to him?”

“He went on about how O’Connor killed his son, tried to traffic him apparently. He wanted revenge.”

“Did you arrest him.”

Jack sighed, “The sucker escaped.”

“He’s a psychopath you know. Not someone you want out in the world. He’s probably done things just as bad as O’Connor if not worst.”

“I know,” Jack said, brushing his hands gently through Mac’s hair and it felt good to Mac to have the warm hand against him, especially after all the cold ghost hands that had grazed him. “We’ll get him someday.”

“I sure hope so.”

“For now, just let your brain rest. You’ve had a busy few days.”

Mac laughed, “Yeah, it’s time for me to sleep off my ghost hangover.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short and may be disappointing for some of you but I really didn't have any plot left I wanted to get out. anyways, I left it open a little so I could write the psychic mac hunting down Murdoc AU if I wanted to. I hope you liked this. Thanks so much for reading. Feel free to comment if you want.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have more of this written but I thought I'd post this part of the story and break it down into the chapters. It shouldn't be that long when all is said and done, but I thought breaking it up would work well. Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave any comments.


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